


tell me (why the good die young)

by fiveroundsrapid



Category: Holby City
Genre: Character Study, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveroundsrapid/pseuds/fiveroundsrapid
Summary: Bernie in the aftermath of Jasmine's death. Spoilers for "For You Will Be The Next to Die"





	tell me (why the good die young)

Bernie stood on her own, amongst a crowd. They had all gathered for a speech by Hanssen; a rally, a congregation. Bernie closed her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. Her bones ached, her nails still stained with blood from when Jasmine was rushed in. Her eyelids now were plastered with a flat line, and her ears with that high pitched tone, signaling the loss of a young life. 

Hanssen's words just washed over her. White noise that came in the calmest and most empathetic of tones. Nothing less from the Swede. But it was nothing to Bernie. She instead, just rested back against the wall, arms wrapped around herself, her hands digging into her arms as the trauma surgeon. Bernie felt dead on her feet, her chest a cavern; empty and aching. Suddenly she was claustrophobic. Waited out Hanssen's speech, took a look at those under her care: her AAU team. Morven in Fletch's arms. Oli with Zosia. Bernie let out a shuddering breath and then turned away, but didn't head to AAU. She couldn't. She had been in charge of the surgery. And right now she couldn't see the bigger picture, all she could see was that young, good, sweet F1 that had her whole life ahead of her. She could see her lying on that operating table, flatlining. 

Bernie wasn't a crier. She didn't like to. She didn't want to. More often than not, she didn't. She would lock her jaw, look towards the sky before salt falls. She was stoic, militaristic. She was a surgeon who had faced wars. Battle-hardened, many thought. A robot, others said. Marcus had. Bernie didn't like to show fear or sadness. Didn't like to look weak. One of her many emotional faults. 

The air was a welcome cool from the claustrophobia of the sterile halls. The wind whipped her face as she burst through the fire escape and onto the roof. It was thankfully empty. Bernie paced, as her emotions started to build up. Her thoughts manic. She should have been able to save her, should have kept an eye, shouldn't have let this happen. Jasmine was so bright and clever, and so promising as a young doctor. Would have made an excellent surgeon. It was all so pointless.  
Bernie put her hands over her face, wiping away some of the tiredness, her fingers tracing red lines left by her surgical mask, before reaching up and tugging out her hair band, allowing her hair to be free. The wind was chilly but Bernie didn't care as she marched over to the railings and held on, bracing herself against them, her whole body tense and yet thrumming with energy. She wanted to scream. Rage. Cry. But she didn't. Bernie Wolfe didn't do that. 

She took out her phone, turning it over in her hands. Serena. The brunette was never far from her thoughts. Bernie needed Serena. She didn't feel able to open up with anyone else, except her love. It was selfish, and pitiful how much she needed her but Bernie dialed the number anyway, holding it up to her ear, heart beating in her chest.

Voicemail.

Bernie cleared her throat, suddenly feeling guilt and foolishness overwhelm grief and sadness. She pushed her fringe from her eyes, hand resting on the back of her head, hip cocked awkwardly. 

"Serena... hi. Look, I know we said we were going to take a break, and not contact each other to give you time and... but..." Bernie was stumbling, tripping over her words like an adolescent. But finally, her shoulders heaved and out came a huge sob. It shook her body, her shoulders going up and down as she stupidly cried into the answerphone. "I'm sorry. I just needed you. Jasmine- there was... And I tried, Serena, I really did. And now... and..." She was gulping over the words, trying to get out a coherent sentence. _There was an accident. Jasmine died. And now she's gone. And I couldn't save her. And you will never be able to make amends like I know you wanted. And that's on me._

Bernie licked her lips, wiping away her face, wiping away the tears again. She clicked the end call button. Looked out at the blue sky, and the view over Holby. Saw the ambulences coming in and going out, all to save lives. Thought about her job. About how she needed to get back down to the ward, and make sure everyone else was okay. And that they were coping. Poor Morven, who had lost Dr Digby only just over a year ago. Fletch, who had been good friends with Jasmine. Oliver, who had had... a thing with her. Bernie's team, all close-knit and wonderful. She needed to be strong for them. Not break down because she had gotten it wrong. 

She lifted the phone up again, and re-dialed. Voicemail again. That was ggood. Taking a deep breath, and controlling herself, she spoke into the reciever. 

"Hi, Serena. It's Bernie. Listen, don't bother with that last voicemail. Just delete it. I... I hope you're having a good time. I- I love you." 

Bernie hung up.  She took in another deep breath, fixed her hair, drew it back up into a ponytail and heading back down to the ward. 

_Pull yourself together, Soldier. Fall apart later._


End file.
